Done
by bluethursday
Summary: Tim is done with Gotham, with bats and birds and all the flying rodents in between.


Summary: Tim is done with Gotham, with bats and birds and all the flying rodents in between.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

...

**Done:**

Tim looks at the wreckage, the leftovers of Wayne Manor, standing proud and tall as always.

It's empty.

Bruce came back, and left all in the same breath to start Batman Incorporated. He didn't take Tim with him, didn't say more than a greeting, a dismissal and Tim isn't a saint. Far from it. He wants to break something precious to make up for it. He wants to make him hurt so that their scars match.

Oh sweetheart your mommy and daddy died in front of you. Boo fucking hoo. At least they gave a shit. That was no excuse for him to go through his life ignoring everyone else in it.

At least they loved him.

Dick stayed in Gotham, Batman version three, Damian his Robin, Jason somewhere off with his little gang of miscreants fucking Dick's ex on the side.

And all he got was a hug.

Cracking his spine he moves his way through the streets. He has a plane to catch, because despite what Batman, Bruce, Dick may have believed. What Jason and Damian may have believed Tim was no ones replacement. He was no ones pretender.

He had made himself. Built himself in a house that never loved him. He tore and scratched and clawed himself into being. He raised himself. All alone, little boy with eyes too old to belong to a child.

He should have, by all that was right, died from failure to thrive. Little boy with his mothers eyes.

But he didn't. Because he was brilliant, because he was _ruthless. _

Because he was lucky.

He didn't need anything from Gotham. They didn't need him either, that was a fact, given how many times they had proven it. Almost half the birds in that city hated him.

He was done.

Done with family. All family. Every single one he's ever been a part of couldn't love him. Not enough. Not the way he needed them too.

Every single one of them was far too broken, but Tim, Tim was done. He was better than this. He was so much better.

He didn't deserve this.

Did they think he'd take it forever?

No.

He was done with this.

_I wash my hands of you. _

…

It's pathetically easy to get away, to slip into the crowds like a ghost. He doesn't even leave America. He just leaves Gotham, and that's enough to get rid of them. The ghosts of his family.

He knows he's not being fair, that he's very, very good at disappearing, and he knows people, allies, who can do magic enough to avoid the Supers. To mask his heartbeat, his voice. To silence it. Silence him.

It's still not an excuse, because if they wanted to, if they really needed to they could find him. If they put their resources together and asked for help, they would find him only they're not going to, because he's not dieing -

_although he could be_.

He hasn't been kidnapped.

_Although he could be. _

It's not like he left a note. Like he gave them something to work with, or scattered breadcrumbs for them to follow.

But still. If they wanted to. They could have found him.

And that's the problem. That's always been the problem. It's not like he doubts that they looked. That they tried and searched and alerted the League and the Titans, but not enough.

Because if they were actually looking,_ they would have found him. _

He wonders when they'll stop.

Some part of him, the part that threw his lot in with Bruce wants to yell at the man, scream that_ I looked for you. I found you lost in time and everyone thought I had lost my mind, and I'm still on Earth but you can't find me? Liar._

The mission always comes first.

No ones going to come for him. He knows. It still stings when he's proven right. When everyone he loves, leaves him the end.

He's the only child walking home from kindergarden all over again because mommy sent the nanny on an errand and forgot about him.

_Again. _

Because Papa Bat has a mission and he can not expand all his energy to find a wayward bird. Tim's not wayward. He knows exactly where he's going.

But the part that had fit into the Robin costume, the one that had been promised that he could keep his feathers. That he could have it, that one thing that was is and theirs all at the same time, that meant he was part of something wants to cry.

He doesn't.

Crying is for other people. It's to show pain, to put on a show.

No one ever comes when Tim does.

So what's the point?

The other parts of him. The ones that kept him alive are happy. _This is a weakness_ they say, it is good to have it removed. To purge the illness.

To leave what is uncorrupted whole and strong.

Unbreakable.

He has broken too many times. That is unacceptable the other parts say, so he will purge.

_I wash my hands of you. _

..

When they find him. When they finally get to him, which was more of an accident than anything else, and Tim knew it was a horrible idea to go traipsing around New York, even though Dick was by all rights supposed to be in Gotham with the demon child.

The first Robin sees him first, gaping like a fish in the streets, rushing towards him like a mad man.

"Timmy." He calls out. "Tim." He's breathless by the time he gets to the younger man. More out of shock than physical exertion, "Where were you, we were so scared and you were just gone, but we can talk about that later because you're okay and you need to come home and -." His words slur together, his gestures wild, arms moving to punctuate each sentence.

"No." Tim cuts him off.

"W-what? Tim, o-okay, I can, we can meet Bruce here. I'll call him. We can, we can Are you okay?" The older man is unnerved, and trying to make sense of the person in front of him. His eyes are wide and blue, glistening pools of concern.

By all rights Tim should feel guilty. He should feel like a horrible person.

He doesn't.

"I'm not coming _home_, Dick, because Gotham isn't home to me anymore." He answers calmly.

Dicks face falls, a small pained noise coming from him, "But Timmy -"

"Don't but Timmy me. I served my purpose, I fulfilled my role. No one asked me to be Robin Dick. I chose, and I am choosing to leave. I chose to leave."

"No. No little brother, you are family." and he is outraged. How cute.

Tim cocks his head, "You have no idea the things I know about family do you, but yes, you were exactly like my family. Or at least the things I knew about family."

Dick smiles like its a good thing even though the words unnerve him.

"No, no smiling. I cared for you more than I did my own parents but in the end it made no difference. I'm done. I don't want to see you or Bruce or anyone from our..family…again."

"Tim, you don't mean that."

"Oh." Tim smiles. It's not a nice smile, "Just like how I didn't mean that Bruce was alive? How I had clearly lost my mind?" He inspects the set of his former brothers jaw. Brother? How strange. He doesn't know the meaning of that word. He knows that Dick doesn't either.

You don't put one sibling above the other. That's probably a lie too.

"Do cheer up Richard. I'm not even family anymore. It would be best that you remembered that." This is his mothers voice. It feels right.

Tim leaves the first Robin staring at his back as he walks away. It feels good.

…

They send Bruce next time. They send Batman and they hope he'll win. He won't.

Tim sees him from the corner of his eye. He hasn't even left the city. There would be no point. No reason to prolong the inevitable. Like ripping off a plaster the movement had to be quick. A sudden break. There was no use in loitering.

The shadow that falls over his back is bigger than the man.

But wasn't it like that with everything Bruce did. His reflection, his reach so much greater than a single sack of flesh.

"Tim." Bruce starts, always Tim. Tim do this, Tim re-organize this, be better, fight better, why are you so slow, why can't you do better? I never wanted you so why aren't you perfect.?You need to be perfect to make up for that Timothy.

I never wanted a child Timothy, so I apologize. I am not capable of giving you what you need, that is however no excuse to shame the family. Do you understand?

His families were so very alike. Both of them blending at the edges slipping against each other, Janet's words mixing with Bruce's commands, both spoke and unspoken.

"Come home."

It's an order.

Tim sighs, he hates repeating himself, "Try again." Because if Dick didn't relay their entire conversation word for word Tim will eat his own gun. Not that he has a gun, but he could and that's the point. He could. If he wanted to.

"I understand that this has been difficult for you, but this is been enough. You will return." There is the bluster, the fire.

Digging under his fingernails he removes the accumulation from underneath, "You idolize your family Bruce. It happens often with orphans or children that loose their parents. Family is supposed to be perfect only it never lives up to the ideal because you keep looking back so much and you can never make it right." He hits were it hurts, digs his nails into the soft parts of his former…former something. Bruce was always a category all his own.

"Tim."

"What was it like when they died? Did you cry Bruce? Did you scream at the world, did you hurt? What was it like to loose the only thing you loved freely?"Because you sure as hell never did again.

"That is enough." Bruce growls out and Tim laughs.

"No." He stands, moving towards the larger man,"You are not my father, you are not my partner, my Batman. You are nothing to me Bruce and you stand there and have the gall, the lack of fucking respect for common human decency to order me back into a house that doesn't actually want me."

Anger sparks underneath the skin.

"I wash my hands of you and your house. I am done. "The words ring out final and true. " I am done." He repeats.

He has nothing else to say.

"Where will you go. A minor wandering in the streets, that could get attention?" He knows a threat when he hears one. Batman plays dirty. Too bad. Tim has always been so much worse.

He turns for just a moment, "Oh Brucie, if you really think that then you don't know me at all. Maybe you never did."

The silence is deafening.

For once Tim is the one who walks away, disappears into the night.

…

Ra's comes so soon after Bruce, after Tim jets out of Gotham like hell on fire. It's not a coincidence. There are no fucking mistakes, and New York was the biggest one Tim's made in a long while.

"Hello Detective." A voice breathes out from behind him.

"Leave Ra's." Tim is familiar enough with the elders voice to place it, "I have no business with you."

"Ahh..but I have business with you young Timothy."

The younger man palms the apple in his hand and counts the many ways he could incapacitate the elder and make his escape. Given of course the inevitability of various minions in his way.

There are six.

Snorting he refuses to answer, walking away from the ancient.

"I see you have forsaken your family." Ra's states. It's a promise, a suggestion.

An offer.

I have a place for you, I can give you a family, come to me lonely children and I will make your troubles disappear. He's heard similar offers from pedophiles, although the elder would probably frown at the similarity before shrugging it off.

_Give me your weak, your frail and you hurting and I will give them claws and teeth of guns and knives._

Tim is neither weak nor frail and this pathetic attempt to exploit his supposed vulnerability is tiring. He was not pushed from his family, he did not fall.

_He jumped. _

It makes a difference.

Walking through the marketplace with his back turned he makes his stand, his mind firmly analyzing the threat behind him, "I want to make this very clear. I am no longer a Bat or a Wayne and I am not a Detective, yours or anyone else's. That does not mean that I am now a criminal or inclined towards becoming your pet assassin and if you suggest otherwise I will take your empire apart..again."

"My, my little snake, how angry you are." Ra's purrs.

Tim turns on his heel, calm and collected, "You have no idea the things I know about anger. None at all, and if you think I won't cut off your head in self defense you are wrong."

Ra's smirks as if he's won something, "How civilian of you."

Tim nearly laughs, "You've got five hundred years on me an empire and you've tried to kill me. Anything I do to you counts as self defense."

"Then I'll make my offer for you to consider -"

"No." Tim cuts him off. He wants nothing to do with the elder. Bat or not he can feel the stink of the Lazarus rising through old skin. He wants no part of it.

_Give me your weary, your restless your ill, and I will arm with with bows and arrows, bombs and land mines. _

Looking at his eyes Tim sees a man, just like any other, and all men bleed, he is absolute,"I will never take anything from you, and I'm not about give anything either. That is the only understanding we need to have." Anything Ra's had to offer wasn't worth the price.

"I think you'll find Detective that if I want something I take it. Offering is a courtesy."

Tims smiles, "I think you'll find that I paid a very nice man with a very large gun to shoot you in the head at my command."

He's his mothers child.

He is not weak, nor is he ill or weary. He is not so stupid, nor so unknowing of his own worth that he would turn to Ra's, that he would lower himself in some ridiculous ploy to "get back" at his family.

He has no need for revenge. He has no need for mercy.

And he has a sniper with a high powered rifle waiting for his signal in a secluded area far from any ninja.

What more could he ask for?

…

Jason cracks his hands as he looks at the Gotham skyline. It's been a while since he's been home, back to the dirt, the garbage filled streets, the children and monsters alike hiding in the alleyways.

It feels like home to be back. This place that's been so hard to leave. This place he thinks he's never going to wash out no matter how many sunny beaches he swims in. It feel like everywhere he goes he carries Gotham with him, the streets and smog and city lights shining even in the black of the night.

Heh. That rhymed.

He can see the silhouette of Batman and Robin, worlds finest coming right at him, Dickiebird still wearing his daddies clothes and demon brat, Talia's kid, always Talia's because he'll be damned if he can see Bruce in the brats eyes. No matter what she did to him the kids hers, bought and paid for. Claimed. They come towards him, vaulting rooftops like its easy. Its' not.

He knows.

All he's doing is sitting on a rooftop, watching the sky. No stars tonight. Not that he was expecting them. Not that they ever were. It's just something you notice.

No stars tonight.

"Well aren't you a pair?" He calls out, grinning as they stop in front of him.

Dick nods, trying to remain Batman serious and Robin scowls, the most frown filled bird since pretender and even then replacement was more a blank canvas than frown faced.

"Jason." Dick greets.

The fallen bird raises his eyebrows at the tone, well, well Dickie was angry, "What's got your panties in a bunch big bird?"

Batman sighs and that's..still really messed up. It gives Jason the creeps. Batman does not sigh. He stands stoically fighting crime.

"It's not you, we've just had some..problems."

Jason's eyebrows raise higher, because now he's curious and as fucked up as he is he's still family which gives him some pull, some clearance. It means that whatever Dick knows its safe for Jason to know it too.

"Well?" He asks.

Damian scowls, "It's none of your business Todd, the trash has simply been taken out for once."

Dick swats at the younger boys head, "Tim isn't trash, and we didn't exactly throw him out. He left."

The youngest one snorts, "Is there a difference?"

Jason's eyebrows are ready to crawl all the way up his scalp, "Pretender? Pretender left? Well shit."

Looking up at the sky, Jason feels the need to lay down because that does not make sense. Replacement wasn't, _Tim_ wasn't exactly the type to get up and leave. He was the last one Jason thought would go from Gotham and Dick starts to speak again while Jason tries to figure out what happened,

"We don't know why, but one morning we woke up and he wasn't there anymore."

_Double shit_, "Did you call Clark?"

Dick nods, "The whole League and Clark couldn't hear him. At all. It was like he disappeared. None of us knew where he was and then a few days ago I go to to New York, I wanted to get some stuff from my old place, and I saw him."

Big Bird looks like someone took a two by four to his face, sad and flat and bleeding even though he's not actually injured.

"He said we weren't his family anymore. That he wanted nothing to do with us, any of us."Dick sounds like he's being raked over coals.

Fuck him sideways and _set him on fire_. That was some serious shit. If there one thing he knew about the third Robin it was that the kid didn't joke. If he said something he meant it. And if he said he was going, that this was over. It was over. No more third birdy.

"What did you do?" He asks because -

No one,_ no one_ disowns their own family without reason, there had to be something and yeah, he tried to kill him and so did demon brat, and then Bruce died but didn't die, and then went of to who knows where and Robin was now Damian and…. okay then. He's an idiot. Nothing new.

He can see Dick raising an eyebrow at him through the cowl.

"Okay, never mind, so things were pretty hard for him."

Dicks voice is still raw, "He disowned us Jay. He left and he's not coming back."

"Good riddance." Damian interrupts, dodging another light swat aimed at his head.

_Well fuck. _

What was he supposed to say to that?

…

Bruce stares at his the image in front of him.

Timothy Jackson Drake.

Born to Janet and Jack Drake, an only child with well to do parents who were known for being good people.

Janet who looked so much like Tim. The same black hair, the same eyes, the pert little nose. Lips red as murder.

The same cruelty.

He'd seen Janet when she was alive, when she was young, tear apart others with her sharp words, a calculated ice queen to Jacks well meaning ignorance. Her son carried himself the same way, with the same grace and the same slow calculated walk. It was clear which parent Tim identified with more.

Jack, hazy eyed and content.

Dick had spoken, had brought up how Tim had mentioned family, like its wasn't good enough for anything and Bruce looked for the second time through the family history of the boy he had once called son. Or was that Jason. He thinks he called Tim son at one point, probably not. Tim was..confusing at best.

He had been so tied up with Jason, so entwined. He thinks he can remember calling Tim by the older boy's name in the beginning. Even though Tim was so much smaller, so different, he would still turn to him in the dead of the night and breathe -

_"Jason."_

He's not sure because Tim never said a word otherwise, never paused in their conversations to indicate a mistake of any kind.

Tim who had, if his calculations were correct and they were always correct, been in the same domicile as his parents for a total of three months.

Tim who had a slew of alternating caretakers until the age of five where he was left alone, save for a maid, a cook and a gardener who were sparsely at the house, in his entire upbringing.

He's been around the younger one long enough, he's worked beside him. He should have seen it, he should have asked, but Jason and then Dick was speaking to him again, and he knows that's not a god enough excuse.

And _neglect _was such a dirty word, so much like abuse and heartache and loneliness. So much easier to ignore than deal with.

He wonders if Janet ever called Tim by someone else's name.

He wants to call Shiva, to ask what she knows about his middle child, the one he never paid to much attention to because if he was being honest Dick was a gifted acrobat and Jason was so full of potential and Damian came to him fully trained, so really all Tim had was his brain and he just -

_Wasn't good enough. _

Only that couldn't be true, because Tim was exceptional at what he did, he just…never seemed like he was, not when he was placed beside the others. The runt of the litter.

Tim didn't need as much as the others and he supposes that it's fair that Tim just left the family as he did, and Damian has been preening for weeks about how the nuisance had realized it had no place in the family.

_It._

What was wrong with that child.?

What was wrong with him? He hasn't told him to stop. He should. He needs to explain that Tim was family but he doesn't want his youngest to ask him _why._

He's not sure he has enough reasons to justify Tim's position to both himself and Damian. Who was Robin. Which had been promised to _Tim. _Forever.

The mask on Damian's face says otherwise.

He wants to speak to Kon, to the Titans and ask them what Tim was like when he wasn't quiet and serious and doing his job and-

_Was he ever anything else?_Because Bruce can't remember. He doesn't know what Tim likes, what he does to calm down. He doesn't know what he eats or when he sleeps or if he sleeps at all.

He wants to know this child he doesn't understand. The one who managed to hide from him for so long, who was found by accident both times.

He's not sure that's an option anymore.

He looks at the image.

Polite smile pasted onto the face of a little boy.

Nothing to see here. _Nothing at all. _


End file.
